


Amber and Mahogany

by dementxa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Cullen's first day as a templar goes bad at first, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Romance, obviously this is a very pro cullen story so if you don't like him idk what to tell you my dude, then goes well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementxa/pseuds/dementxa
Summary: A newly-minted templar, Cullen is determined to perform his duties vigilantly. On his very first day in Kinloch Hold, he meets an elf with a taste for cherries.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Amber and Mahogany

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, i'd like to say: I Aten't Dead!
> 
> I'm slowly trying to get back into writing, hopefully this will be the first of many stories that I'll post here!
> 
> Anyway, on with the story! Please, enjoy!

Kinloch Hold had to be enchanted.

That would hardly be a surprise – after all, magic was an everyday occurrence in the tower. Cullen had arrived the previous evening and he'd already witnessed events he never thought were possible. He saw mages who could conjure items and even living beings out of thin air, while others could heal any wound or turn themselves into animals.

It could be expected that such a strong concentration of magic would affect the building as well. That was how Cullen explained the unusual difference in temperature in the area he was patrolling, compared to the weather outside. True, the corridor was dark, as there were no windows to let any light or warmth in. The pair of torches, placed too far apart from each other, did little to change that. It was so cold that Cullen, who had been patrolling since early morning, could hardly feel his toes by this point.

What rotten luck he had, being assigned to this freezing place! Just after breakfast, Cullen had caught a glimpse through the open gates and had seen how wonderful the weather was. The sun was shining from a clear, silk blue sky and underneath its warm rays the lake had turned into molten gold. The sight had been so lovely that Cullen was convinced the Maker had granted him a momentary view of paradise. But then the heavy gates had closed with a thunderous sound and Cullen's heavenly visions had been shattered cruelly.

During his training, he'd been told of mages who escaped the Circle to lead a desperate life on the edge of civilization, stealing and killing to survive. While he was disapproving of apostates, as most of them were dangerous, he could understand why some mages felt the desire to run away from such a bleak place.

A sudden noise snapped him out of his musings. It was coming from around a corner, where some of the Circle's food supplies were stored. That area was part of Cullen's route. Unfortunately, he'd become distracted, so he wasn't as vigilant as he was supposed to be. Someone had obviously taken advantage of the fact and had sneaked in, most likely in hopes of stealing some food.

When Cullen came around the corner, his suspicions were confirmed at once. The door to one of the cellars was slightly ajar. He carefully stalked towards it, trying to be as quiet as one could possibly be while wearing heavy armour. Luckily for him, the person in the room was too busy searching through the boxes and jars on a shelf and didn't hear him enter. Judging by the aroma, this particular room was used to store the Circle's supply of herbs and spices.

The intruder had their back to Cullen. The soft clinking of glass indicated they were searching for something particular. They must be quite young, Cullen assumed. They were small and clad in the robes of an apprentice, with the hood pulled over their head. Cullen cleared his throat and the mage jumped up, shrieking in surprise. They spun round to face him and for a heartbeat, the two stood motionless, staring at each other. Then the intruder spoke up, uttering a single sound.

“Oh.”

An odd response. The tone was even, just slightly distorted by disappointment. Cullen was left with the strong impression that this wasn't the mage's first attempt at stealing food. This person's disregard for the Circle rules was quite obvious, and he felt rather anxious at whether he was capable of taking any meaningful action. Would he, a newcomer, be perceived as an authority figure by someone to whom breaking the rules was no big deal?

While Cullen was hesitating, the mage pulled down their hood, revealing themselves as a young male around Cullen's age. He had a pretty, delicate face, which initially deceived Cullen into believing that a girl stood before him. However, he realized the truth upon noticing the pointed tips of a pair of ears barely poking through his hair.

_Ah!_

Just as he made that discovery, he noticed that the other was studying him as well. The elf's eyes – which were mismatched in their colouration – were full of interest, while his eyebrows, light and delicate like the wings of a dragonfly, were arched high. The examination went on for several seconds longer. When it was over, the elf parted his lips and uttered the same exclamation as before. Only this time, there was no trace of disappointment in his voice.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't used to receiving such attention … or any, for that matter. But he quickly squared his shoulders, reminding himself that the mage had broken the rules and he, as a templar, had a duty to take appropriate action. He cleared his throat in an effort to imbue some sternness in his voice.

“You shouldn't be here. Mages aren't allowed to visit the cellars.”

“I know that,” the elf replied. “But you don't understand. It's an emergency.”

“Oh?” Cullen relaxed his posture slightly. He wasn't that surprised to hear something had happened. The Circle was a dangerous place, full to the roof with mages, some of who were unable to control their powers. He had also been warned of certain trouble makers. “What's happened?”

“I'm _really_ craving some dried cherries!”

Cullen's jaw dropped. At first he thought he must have misheard, but then the elf dropped the seriousness. His eyes sparkled with mirth and his lips spread into a huge smile. Cullen felt his ire rising.

“I'm sorry,” he said stiffly, “but this isn't a real emergency. Please, leave now or I will be forced to take punitive measures.”

“Ohh, scary!” The elf chuckled. He took a strand of hair between his fingers and twisted it, while casually leaning on a cupboard. “You're new here, aren't you?”

“I don't see why that matters.”

“I've just never seen you before, that's all.” The elf grinned. He had a gap between his front teeth which gave a rather impish, but oddly charming appearance. “What's your name?”

“Er … it's Cullen.”

“It's nice to meet you. Cullen ... that's a pretty name. Ser Cullen. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

“I suppose?” Cullen shrugged. For a moment, he was torn between duty and curiosity. The latter won. “And what's your name?”

“Tamarion.”

Tamarion offered his name with a dazzling, gap-toothed smile that was all too easy to reciprocate. Cullen felt the corners of his mouth twitching and hastily locked his jaw in an effort to keep himself from becoming too friendly. He tried – _once again!_ \- to steer the conversation in the right direction.

“Listen, you either leave now, or I'll have to punish you. The Circle has rules.”

“Fine, I get it. Jeez, you newbies are always so strict!” Tamarion rolled his eyes. “I'll just grab some cherries and I'm off! Happy?”

“No! _No_ cherries!”Cullen sighed. His first day and he was already having troubles. The Chantry had prepared him for demons and blood mages, but no one had ever told him he'd be faced with … this nuisance! “Just … do as I ask you. Please? I don't mean to offend you but the Circle has rules and they must be followed.”

“So you're really going to punish me?” Tamarion asked playfully. Seeing that Cullen was hesitant to answer, he laughed and leaned forward to pat him on the arm. “Relax, ser Cullen. No one's going to get in trouble. I was born here, so I know how things are done. Nobody gives a shit about the cellars.”

“That can't be right!” Cullen bristled in defence. “If that is the case, then why was I told to patrol the cellars?”

“Because you're the new guy.” Tamarion shrugged. “They never let the newbies do _important_ things!”

Cullen furrowed his brows. Though Tamarion's words were unpleasant, he had no reason to doubt them. He was well aware that he could hardly stroll into the tower and be entrusted with _real_ responsibilities at once. A templar's duties were far too heavy a burden to be entrusted to Cullen without him having proven himself worthy first. He knew that. But still … it was disheartening to have Tamarion confirm that what he was doing right now was completely useless. His shoulders sagged a little and he let out a soft sigh.

“So that's how it is ...”

He must have looked quite pitiful because Tamarion suddenly dropped his teasing manner.

“Hey, hey ...” He spoke in a soft voice. “Don't be like that. Guarding the cellars isn't _that_ bad, really. Trust me, it could have been worse. At least you weren't sent to scrub the Tranquil.”

“Huh?”

“It's this cruel joke that some of the older templars do,” Tamarion explained. Though his tone was bright and cheerful, Cullen noted that he'd suddenly become quite stiff. “Those who still have their wits, that is. What they do is, they pick some greenhorn, usually someone who's a little bit on the stupid side, and they tell them that they have discovered a dastardly, cunning plot. According to them, there's this group of mages who are planning on escaping the Circle by pretending to be Tranquil, with a fake brand on their foreheads, drawn in ink. So, the greenhorn is given a bucket of water and a rag and instructed to go to each Tranquil in the tower and rub their forehead to see if the brand will come off. And all the while the older templars are laughing their asses off from the sidelines.”

Cullen listened with increasing disbelief and horror. He was tempted to believe that Tamarion was jesting. After all, the elf had not been serious at all during their whole conversation. But he could clearly see that his light-hearted demeanour was merely a mask. Tamarion's eyes were deep and Cullen could see the sadness and fury within.

How was it possible that this was happening? How could people who had sworn to serve Andraste take joy in such indecent, nasty tricks?

“Has the Knight-Commander been informed of this?” He asked. “Surely he would not allow such practice!”

“He just doesn't care?” Tamarion shrugged. “He might do something if he got enough complaints, but those poor Tranquil never say a word about it.”

“It's utterly humiliating! No one should be treated in such a manner!”

“I agree.” Tamarion looked intensely at Cullen. He began playing with his hair again, a soft smile on his lips. “I like you, ser Cullen. You're not like the others here. You're actually a good person!”

“I … thank you.” Cullen blushed. His hand found the back of his neck again. “But surely you must be exaggerating. I'm certain most of the templars have good intentions as well.”

“They don't.” Tamarion shook his head sadly. “Most don't care about us, which is actually the better option. The others are outright cruel. You see, ser Cullen … the Circle isn't a happy place for us.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Cullen said softly, painfully aware of how hollow the words seemed. “It shouldn't be this way. The Circle isn't a prison. What we're doing here … it's for your own good too.”

“It's not.” Tamarion sighed. He absently rearranged a few boxes on the shelf next to him while he continued talking; his voice was so soft it was as if he was talking to himself. “But I can see why you want to believe it. It must help you sleep at night.” He sighed again, then turned back to Cullen. “Well, it was really nice meeting you, ser Cullen,” he said, smoothing out the front of his robes, “but I think I should go. Without my cherries.”

“Oh!” Cullen was startled by the decision. He couldn't help but think it was yet another trick. “Really?”

“I don't want to risk losing the only templar who cares about us. Not for a handful of fruit,” Tamarion said chuckling. “I'll be seeing you around, ser Cullen.”

He gave him one last soft smile, then headed for the door. As he walked past him, Cullen caught the scent of flowers. He was unsure of how Tamarion had got a hold of perfume in the tower, but he wasn't about to complain about it. Though the aroma was quite faint, like the wind caused from the flapping of butterfly wings, Cullen found it oddly intoxicating. Tamarion had barely managed to make a couple of steps when Cullen reached out and took him by the arm. Led by a sudden impulse and spurred on by the fact that, for the first time, the elf's face showed genuine confusion, he walked to the shelves. It took him several moments to find what he was looking for.

“Here.” He returned to Tamarion with a small pouch in his hands. “The rules only apply to the mages, so … if I take something and give it to you, it should be alright. Right?”

He wasn't entirely certain who he was trying to convince – Tamarion, or himself. The rules of the Circle were open to interpretation when it came to what templars were allowed to do. But Greagoir would likely disapprove of Cullen's actions were he to learn about them.

Luckily for Cullen, it wasn't the Knight-Commander that stood before him. Tamarion accepted the cherries with a wide grin. He quickly devoured some and licked his lips in obvious delight.

“How generous of you!” He chuckled and bounced on his heels, like a small child would. “I'll remember this, ser Cullen. Thank you. Here,” he offered the pouch to him, “take a cherry or two. You've earned them.”

“Thank you, but I think I'll decline. I actually prefer raspberries.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Cullen nodded. “When I was a child … we had raspberry bushes in the garden. When they were in season, my siblings and I would get up really early in the morning, and we'd pick and eat them all. They were delicious.”

He and his sisters would pick the bushes clean. Their family was the only one in the village that didn't prepare raspberry jam, much to his mother's displeasure. She would always scold them for their gluttony, but how could anyone resist? Soft, plump, covered in tiny droplets of dew, yet unkissed by the sun … fresh raspberries were truly a delicacy surpassing any Orlesian feast, Cullen thought. He sighed, filled with bittersweet nostalgia.

“It was … wonderful.”

“It sounds pretty wonderful indeed.” Tamarion smiled softly.

“Yeah.” Cullen smiled, but then remembered where they were. He cleared his throat. “Er … perhaps you ought to leave now? Another templar might come to switch with me soon. If they find you here, you'll get in trouble.”

“So will you.” Tamarion ate a few more cherries, then pocketed the rest. “Thank you, again.”

“Don't mention it.” Cullen smiled. He shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant to voice his thoughts. “Er ...”

“Yes?”

“I suppose that … I'm not as well-acquainted with … the way things are done here as I thought. And you seem to be.” He paused and Tamarion nodded encouragingly. “So … I wouldn't mind … er … talking with you again. I think it would be very educational for me. If you'd like to, of course.”

He exhaled shakily, acutely aware of his burning neck and ears. His heart was going wild; it was a miracle Tamarion couldn't hear it thumping against his chest plate. He already regretted speaking out. Maker, he'd come off as quite the fool, hadn't he?

Tamarion didn't seem to think so. He threw his head back and laughed merrily.

“I'd love to, ser Cullen!”

Then, instead of turning around and leaving, as Cullen thought he would, Tamarion took a quick step forward. The next few moments passed in a blur. When Cullen finally found himself able to think and see clearly again, he was alone. The door was now wide open. The hallway echoed with the sound of footsteps and bubbly laughter which were quickly fading. And his lips tasted of cherries.


End file.
